


The Second Horseman

by wendylecter



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, Post-Armageddon, Slightly bad humor, Solo for @RogueHarbinger, semi-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendylecter/pseuds/wendylecter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Carmine "Red" Zuigiber, aka Scarlett, aka War.<br/>As well as Famine (Dr. Raven Sable), Pollution (Mr. White), and Death (Azrael).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Horseman

_'When He broke the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying, “Come.” And another, a red horse, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to him.'_

 

Pale, slender fingers bring the book to a close, and as the woman's orange irises dart up, she sees two little children fighting over this shiny, colorful magazine as their parents argued as well.  
A smirk that showed that she was pleased makes itself known across her lips, and the woman moves to a stand, returning the Bible back upon the shelf where she had gotten it.

Carmine exits bookstore, now filled with people fighting with whoever, spewing profanities and insults or, in more extreme cases, would start to throw a punch or two. It was pure chaos.

Of course, that was what she brought upon the world. It was quite obvious, really, with a name that meant destruction and discord. The second horseman came in the form of this lithe-framed woman; tresses the color of burnished copper reaching down until her waist, and that deep, mellifluous voice that sounded like it belonged to some creature that hid amongst tall grass, silent and unstirring, until a small thing would be unfortunate enough to cross its path.  
There was no doubt that Carmine Zuigiber was beautiful, but in a way that a forest fire was beautiful; something to be admired from afar, and not up close.

Better known as Scarlett to her associates in the weapons trade business, this woman often provided arms capable of turning a minor civil war, into a major civil war.  
She stayed in some Mediterranean island for a brief vacation ever since Monday.  
That was _before_ the country had split into three factions. It was Wendesday; the tourist trade was cut off, and in a town's square, the residents were currently destroying a statue of Santa Maria.  
It was such a shame half of the region had been reduced to debris before she could go sightseeing. A bloody shame.

Carmine made her way to some rundown bar, sliding into a stool and ordering a glass of the best bourbon they had.  
Before she could finish her drink, however, the patrons had begun to break out into a fight, the others pulling out guns and other weapons they kept holstered.  
Bullets whizzing past and knives being thrown all around her, yet not a single one would hit the woman.  
Amidst the chaos, a stout, panting messenger made a beeline for the woman sitting undisturbed, holding out a package and a clipboard for signing. No words were spoken, and after she writes down _'War'_ on the blank that needed a signature, the man scurries off, no doubt exhausted and terribly traumatized.

It was a sealed package, and just by glancing at its contents Scarlett already knew what it meant.

"Famine, Pollution, and Death." War would utter their names in greeting, finally meeting up with the other three horsemen after quite a prolonged vacation.  
They all greeted her with a nod, and the four beings take their respective places around a table.

Famine, with his prominent cheekbones and sinking eyes gives a smile, bony fingers steepling under his slightly bearded chin. He was the one who looked the most trustworthy, but if you were one of the horsemen you'd know better. "Well? They must have gathered us here for a reason." She thought he looked more like a walking skewer stick as compared to the vessels the other three wore. Still, fitting for someone who would bring starvation upon mortals.

"It's so, so close. Armageddon feels like a birthday, or Christmas." War replies cheerily. It was only around these three she would act humanoid, her statement followed by a giggle that sounded a lot like a machine gun stutter.

"We don't have birthdays." Pollution adds, his chalk-white digits drumming against the table. Initially, it should be Pestilence in his place, but that horseman had retired in 1936, which left Pollution to fill in for him.  
With that pale complexion and white hair that would reach until his shoulders, the being looked much like Victorian Romantic poets just before the consumption and drug abuse really started to cut it.

"I said it was like birthdays, I didn't say it was a birthday." War retorts, giving him a dull stare before pulling at a discarded candy wrapper stuck to his hair. Scarlett lets it flutter to the floor, wiping her fingers on her handkerchief after finding out they smelled like oil shortly before she touched him.

Their petty conversation is cut off when Death lifts his hand to indicate that they must be silent. There was a grin on his face, but then, given the face, there couldn't have been anything else.  
His cloak, darker than the night but littered with what looked like stars reminded War of the sky. And indeed, it was created from the heavens. Or that was what the saleslady said.

"Finally. We are complete." His voice, a dark echo from the night places, a cold slab of sound, grey, and dead, held that familiar air of authority.  
Death was often the one who acted as their leader, and the guy no one wanted to play Trivial Pursuit with because he won every single time.

Pursing her lips, War tilts her head to the side; like she always did when the conversation was just about to get interesting. "So, back to the topic at hand. Armageddon."

They start discussing their plans and each one was offered a "meal" from Famine, which no one ate because it wasn't even close to food. _Unfood_ , War liked to call it.  
Famine merely throws his away, and Pollution reminds him of the starving children in Africa out of sarcasm.  
"Oh? I'm flattered that you noticed." Was the third horseman's only reply.

And so, the four omnipotent beings converse around the table; War looking absolutely excited for the chaos to come, Famine tapping away at his phone and only partly listening to the conversation, Pollution idly playing with a bunch of plastic candy wrappers, and Death having to act like the only responsible adult.

**Author's Note:**

> My first solo for War (@RogueHarbinger).  
> So, enjoy and do leave a kudos if you liked it!  
> \- #Pseudonymous


End file.
